


Not an Angel

by FLEISCHGEWEHR, NikoNotHere



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Bets & Wagers, Casual Sex, Demon Summoning, Demons, Developing Relationship, Emotional Manipulation, Formation of Rammstein, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Suicide Attempt, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:14:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25410697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FLEISCHGEWEHR/pseuds/FLEISCHGEWEHR, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikoNotHere/pseuds/NikoNotHere
Summary: Till's attempt to off himself is interrupted by a being who claims he isn't an angel, and makes a bet that he can help Till turn his life around.Fleischgewehr came up with an absolutely brilliant parallel story that fit so perfectly with this that I had to combine the two. So, this will be a collaboration going back and forth between the two stories
Relationships: Paul Landers/Christoph Schneider | Doom, Richard Kruspe/Till Lindemann, Till Lindemann/Christian Lorenz | Flake
Comments: 26
Kudos: 43





	1. Worth the Trouble

Till’s eyes started watering, and he realized he'd been holding them wide open until they stung. He blinked rapidly, wiping at his face but not wanting to tear his gaze away.

The man in front of him rolled his eyes as he reached a hand out.  
“Come on; get down. Hurry up before I change my mind. I don’t have all day. I mean, I do, but I don’t want to spend it here.”

Till blinked hard again. Surely he was hallucinating. The man down below on the road next to the bridge, extending an impatient hand up to him, looked surprisingly average overall. He was tall, a bit thin, with shoulder length blonde hair and wearing a simple t-shirt and jacket with track pants. He seemed incredibly bored with the whole scenario, though Till felt his own body shaking and trembling with nerves.

That man below him also had wings. They were shimmering, and almost completely see-through as they flickered, but definitely there. Till was losing his mind. Before he could debate the functionality of his brain further, he passed out. 

With a sigh, the man with the “wings” jumped up and grabbed Till before he fell backward off the bridge, muttering that this had better be worth the trouble.

\---

Till’s consciousness snapped back to him suddenly. He sat up abruptly, a bit dizzy before realizing where he was. He was back home, in his living room on the couch. The TV was on, playing some show he didn't recognize. His shoulders felt stiff, and Till assumed he'd fallen asleep the night prior while watching something. He didn't remember doing so, but the vivid dream about the bored angel insisted he must have. 

Till flopped back onto the couch, not bothering to look at a clock. The sun was up and hot, meaning he was already very late for work. He'd been acting plenty dismal the past few days; no one would think twice about an absence from him. His dream really hadn't been too far off. Climbing that bridge and jumping off had crossed his mind a lot the past few weeks, so it wasn't surprising that it made its way into his dreams. He really needed to shape up, or--

"You're out of beer."

The sudden voice in the room startled Till right up off of the couch. He spun around, backing away quickly.

The same man from the bridge stood in the doorway to the kitchen, a half-drunk bottle of beer in his hand, and an eyebrow raised questioningly at him. 

His damn shimmering wings still flickered between visible and invisible out from his back, too. 

"What-- who are-- fuck," Till blurted eloquently, pushing himself up against his wall fearfully. 

The man rolled his eyes and downed the last of the beer.  
"You all always react the same. Would it kill you to have an original response once in awhile?"

"I'm fucking dreaming," Till muttered, shaking his head. "I'm still asleep on the couch and my stupid head is making me work out my shit in my dreams."

The angel-like man shrugged and tossed the bottle at the trash can.  
"Better, but still really common. Try something like, "Oh hey, a ghost! What's up?" Or you could go with, "I thought angels were supposed to have halos." Or my personal favorite, "Demons don't get to appear to Christians."

Till's mouth worked to form words, but nothing emerged for a moment. When he finally managed, he simply asked, "Who are you?"

With a sigh, the being walked over and flopped down on the now-empty couch. Till couldn't see his wings anymore.  
"Ah well. I should have known not to expect much originality here. You live in a very boring city. Or is this just a small country? I can't recall."

“This is the GDR,” Till answered, only barely louder than a whisper. His throat felt dry and he still insisted he was dreaming. At the man's still-raised eyebrow, Till clarified, "German Democratic Republic."

“That doesn’t answer my question at all,” the other man said, shaking his head. “I don’t follow politics anymore.”

“It’s… it’s a country, Germany; and this is a city in it-- Berlin.”

The being snapped his fingers. “Oh, right, you’re the ones with that wall down the middle. Sorry, like I said, I really don’t keep up with any of this.”

“I still don’t know who you are.”

The being-- man?-- extended his hand out toward Till without rising from the sofa.  
“I’m Flake.”

Till slowly stepped back over to the couch and warily took his hand to shake it. It felt real enough; no weird sensations, and he didn’t phase through him or anything.  
“You’re real?”

Flake sighed again and rolled his eyes. He seemed to do that a lot.  
“Yes. Very real. Go ahead, get all the stupid questions out so we can move on and do something else.”

Till hesitated at that, prompting yet another impatient noise from Flake.

“Here, I’ll even help you start. “What are you doing here?” I’m here because I got bored of the last place I stayed, and you seemed like an interesting person to hang around with. Still need help? All right, “Why do you sometimes have wings?” Because I really like the aesthetic, and they feel cool when I have them.” There, now you try.”

Worrying he might upset the man if he didn’t ask something, Till just let out the first question that popped into his head:  
“Are you an angel?”

Flake pointed a knowing finger at him.  
“Right, I should have expected that one first. No, I’m not. And before you ask the follow up,” he said, as Till opened his mouth again, “I’m not a demon either. It’s really weird how you all only have two denominations for “good or evil beings.” There’s actually hundreds of classifications for us. Got any cigarettes?”

Till pointed wordlessly at the little end table beside the couch.

Flake opened the drawer and nodded as he pulled out the packet and a lighter.  
“Thanks.”

“Where are you from?” Till had gathered a little courage, enough to sit down across from the blonde not-angel in a chair as the man lit up.

Flake shrugged. “Nowhere you would understand. You could just call it a type of limbo, I guess. I promise it’s not interesting. Anything else?”

“Um… do you have any powers? Besides like, wings, I guess?”

Flake nodded, taking a long drag of the cigarette and then blowing out little smoke rings. He wasn’t very good at it.  
“I can be invisible, either to everyone or just certain people. My wings of course can be visible or invisible as well.”

Here, he made a small movement to lean forward and Till was startled to see the previously invisible wings suddenly explode up and out in a burst of light. They weren’t the typical white, fluffy angel wings he’d seen in paintings and movies. Rather, the wings looked sharp, pointed, and in a very strict geometric style instead. The color shimmered in an iridescent way but never fully settled on a single color, rather flowing smoothly from one to another, and some that Till couldn’t even identify properly.

After a moment of dazzling Till with the bright colors, Flake sat back again and the wings disappeared. Till blinked, still wrestling with his mind that reiterated he must be dreaming.

“Can you fly?”

Flake snorted, and the first smile appeared on his face that Till saw since meeting him.  
“Ironically, no, though that would certainly be more fun than apparating or walking everywhere. I can only go places I’ve already been before if I want to just appear somewhere. Otherwise I’m as stuck as you. I’m also not particularly athletic. So many people in America asked if I played basketball. I don’t.”

Till noticed that seemed to be an irritation of Flake’s, so he tried to calm his mind enough to remember that. Though so far he seemed harmless, Till decided this being was certainly not someone he wanted to anger.

“So you can be invisible and make non-functional wings appear,” Till repeated.

Flake frowned at him past his cigarette. “I never said they weren’t functional. I just said I can’t fly.”

He tapped out the remains of the cigarette and stood up, stretching his arms over his head for a moment. Flake lowered his arms, and the seemingly permanent nonchalance on his face was suddenly replaced by a look of pure intensity, and his wings burst out from behind him in a bright explosion. Till was both blinded by the sudden light and knocked off the chair immediately, a gale force wind pummeling him as Flake’s wings beat forward with one strong movement.

Till cowered in fear, gripping at the chair that had fallen over with him and clutching it to himself protectively, not daring to open his eyes.

“Oh, calm down,” he heard Flake say. “You’re fine. It was just a lot of wind and light.”

Till pulled away from the hands he felt tugging at his arm and balled himself up further, convinced that this was officially a nightmare and not a dream as he’d thought earlier.

“Hey, come on. Look, I don’t even have my wings out anymore, see? Go ahead, I promise I won’t do that without warning again.”

Till barely pried one of his eyes open tentatively, making sure he could in fact still see, first of all. He could, and he saw Flake patiently holding his hand down to help him back up. With even more hesitation than he’d had before, Till carefully took the hand and stood up. He noticed that despite Flake looking like a fairly thin, slightly built man that was much smaller than Till, he hauled him to his feet with no difficulty at all.

“Semi-functional wings, then,” Till said shakily as he righted the chair and sat gently back on it. 

Flake had returned to the couch, sprawling back lazily on it and barely containing a smirk as he did so.  
“Semi, yes. Good for putting the “fear of god” or whatever deity someone prefers into them if I need to. I'm also a bit stronger than people, but I don’t have a need for strength all that much.”

Till paused for a minute, trying to digest all of that information.  
“So, you’re here because you got bored?”

Flake nodded. “Basically. I saw you on the bridge and figured it would be at least somewhat interesting to save you. Which reminds me, why were you there? I mean, I know “why,” but what were you feeling?”

Till held a hand up for Flake to stop, trying to keep up with the rapid conversation as best he could. Apparently it hadn’t been a dream. He really had tried to commit suicide on the bridge last night.  
“What do you mean you know why?”

“I can read your mind. Kind of. Not like thoughts and feelings, unfortunately-- just memories.”

“Memories?”

“Yes, like your past. Not the future, since obviously you don’t have any memories of things that haven’t happened yet. But your memories of yesterday, for example, are quite clear. You wanted to throw yourself off the bridge to kill yourself because your job is shit and you aren’t going anywhere in your life. But I don’t know what feelings drove all of that, what you felt when you sat up there and thought about it.”

Till felt he'd exhausted his shock by now, and simply nodded at this new information. Of course the being could read minds, or memories. Why not?

"Well, all of those bad things kept piling up, and I didn't see any way for them to get better. It was like a weight on my chest that never eased, and I felt hopeless. Not really sad, just empty and pointless as a person."

Flake looked absolutely fascinated, and nodded as he listened intently.

"Um, that's it, really." Till felt weird divulging something so incredibly personal like this, but he guessed since the man could literally read his mind, it didn't really matter. 

"Hopeless, empty, and pointless," Flake counted on his fingers. "You'd say those are the main things that pushed you to it?"

Till shrugged, but nodded. 

"What if I said I was here to help you with that?" Flake asked, his eyes suddenly glinting. 

Till was immediately suspicious. As far as he knew, the not-angel was offering to kill him.  
"What do you mean?"

Flake leaned back on the couch and crossed his legs coolly, but Till could see the glint still flickering in his eyes.  
"I mean I want to help you stop feeling hopeless, empty, and pointless. If it helps, you can think of it like how angels always have duties to fulfill when they come to earth. You can be my "fulfilling duty" or however you'd like to phrase it."

"And what do you get in return?"  
Till wasn't stupid. This being exuded exactly zero concern for him, so he knew there must either be some catch to his offer of help, or he must be gaining something from it.

"Just the satisfaction of knowing I helped someone in need," Flake said, but the maddening flicker in his eyes intensified, and Till didn't believe him at all.

However, Till also didn't exactly have any other alternatives. His previous resolution to off himself had faded, leaving a very sickening feeling in its place. If this being was offering him help, regardless of his motivations for it, Till figured he should accept it. He could always get to the bottom of Flake's reasoning later, assuming he didn't suddenly startle himself awake from this whole ridiculous scenario.

"Okay," he said, giving a slow nod. "I don't see why not. If you think you can help me, let's give it a try."

Flake stood up and walked over to Till's chair.  
"Excellent. Here, I'll even offer you a little wager. I promise I'll help you turn your life around completely, and get rid of those feelings you don't like. If I can't, I'll stay here permanently and continue helping you with anything you want. And if I can, then we'll just call it settled. Deal?"

Flake stuck his hand out to Till, waiting. 

Though the suspicion and unease was almost palpable, Till grabbed the being's hand and shook it, sealing whatever deal they now had. He would just take it as it came, and hope that Flake didn't have anything sinister in mind.  
"Deal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This particular fic was first inspired by this beautiful artwork by MaxKennedy on Tumblr:  
> https://maxkennedy24.tumblr.com/image/60836659866
> 
> I first saw it while *extremely* high, and found the colors and overall feel of the art to be downright entrancing. It still is, and the overwhelming feeling of Flake being "meh" about Till's clinging to him was beautiful. I hope this weird fic is interesting at least! I have some pretty big plans for this one...
> 
> Edit, this is now a semi-collab! Paul and Christoph are now Fleischgewehr's lovely contributions


	2. Hell of a situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul is struggling with surviving as a young punk musician in East Germany. Hunger pushes him to petty crimes as one evening he steals a book in hopes of selling it later. Before he does that, he takes a look inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, and future Paul/Christoph chapters, are the work of Fleischgewehr :D
> 
> According to them, "I stole your idea, sucked your inspiration and stomped on your plot."

Loud punk music kept playing as the apartment was consumed by pure chaos from the people who invaded it. Dancing, screaming, kissing, drinking, any activities of freedom of soul were performed tonight. Paul had stopped paying attention to what he and his band were playing a long time ago and was now wandering around rooms with his guitar, lazily fiddling with strings and scouting to try and find anything valuable to take as payment for today's "performance". Luck wasn't on his side as it usually happens in situations like this. The whole apartment barely had any heavy furniture left as most of the stuff was either broken or stolen already, let alone actual valuables. He only managed to stumble across some old sideboard with dusted books stored inside. It had been magically untouched by the masses of people visiting the place all the time. 

Without paying much attention to people around him, Paul opened it and started studying covers hoping to find something that would look to be at least a couple of marks of worth. He was starving. Half ruined molded cooking books, DIY, and fishing guides were filling the shelf. Paul frowned and was about to give up when a slight shimmer of the pages from one specific book, with a spine turned in another direction, caught his eyes. Paul pulled it out, brushing away the thick layer of dust and read the title. 

"Demonology through history, Tome 1." 

Paul crooked a brow and traced golden embossing with his fingers. Odd choice for shelves filled with home guides, but at least this piece of ancient history might actually feed him. 

Not bothering to close the sideboard, Paul moved back towards the improvised stage, unplugging his guitar and gathering his stuff. He barely knew the guys around him so long goodbyes seemed out of place, and in a couple of minutes he was out along with his guitar and the book. 

Home met him with vacant food shelves and one last unopened bottle of schnapps. His stomach grumbled with a thought of another hungry night but there was not that much he could do in the middle of the night. 

With a sigh, Paul opened the bottle, taking a big gulp from it and moved to another room. Drinking alone in the darkness on an empty stomach wasn't providing enough fun for him. His eyes were going around the empty room to find something to do until they stopped on the cover of the book, now lying near Paul on the couch. He reached for it and opened on random pages. 

“Draw a symmetrical pentagram on the floor.” 

“Yeah...right...” Paul huffed at the book in his hands and took a big gulp from the schnapps bottle. He still didn't get how such a thing ended up on a shelf at some punk’s wannabe apartment. It looked fancy enough though, so maybe he can sell it for a couple of marks to some bookshop… or cultist. 

“Read the forbidden words as loud as you can so the gates of Hell will shudder from your voice. Repeat them until your demands will be heard and a spawn of Father appears in front of you. Announce your request to the Demon and pay the price.” 

Paul shut the book and tossed it to the side, burying himself deep into the ragged couch. Silence was pushing him. It was lonely in his small apartment but not so lonely to summon an actual Demon. And what he is going to ask from it if it would work. Money? Fame? A girlfriend? Paul made another face and hid his face in his knees, sluggish thoughts traveling back and forth in his mind.

Minutes passed. Paul finally lifted his head and looked at the book still laying in the same place. He reached for it with his fingers and opened it again to random pages. 

“Demons can provide various services, from curses on others to granting powers to a summoner. Payment depends on the will of a summoner and its complications, as well as the will of the Hell Creature themselves. There were records of spawn walking the land of mortals as trusted companions, acting as advisers, lovers, and generals. They gained many names through human history and were widely influential in many historical events.”

Paul traced words with his fingers while absorbing what he just read. “Companions.” “Lovers.” Sounds like a cure for loneliness to him, too good to be true, and what will be the price? 

He got up from the couch and went to the nearest drawer retrieving a couple of candles that were laying there in case of another blackout, and a piece of charcoal from the floor where he left it after decorating the walls with words and slogans. He then returned to the book and turned a couple of pages back to ritual instructions.   
“It shall be three hours past midnight.” 

Alright, he has fifteen minutes. 

“Draw symmetrical pentagram on the floor. Draw the perfect circle around it and fill it with words of our Lord.”   
He mumbled instructions to himself and began to work with the piece of charcoal. Failing at first attempts, he cursed, erasing mess of the lines into even more of a mess of Black soot on the floor, cursing even more. Calming himself, Paul reached for the almost empty bottle of the alcohol, finishing it, and gave drawing another try, finally bringing it to life in the middle of the room. 

“Put the Hell flames on the end of the Star.”   
He lit the candles on five ends around the circle. 

“Pour the blood of a virgin on the sacred words.” 

“Blood of a virgin? Where am I gonna get this??” Paul got up from his knees and met his own image in a mirror on the wall.   
“Right...” 

With a sigh he reached into the pocket of his pants and grabbed a pocket knife. He hesitated a bit but alcohol was too strong in his system for him to argue with logic right now. He only hoped that demons don’t mind drunk virgin blood. 

It stung a lot and the flow was too strong. Should've cut his palm and not a wrist. He held his hand above the runes until everything was covered in his blood. Meanwhile the clock turned to 3 and he repeated the last part. “Read the forbidden words as loud as you can so the gates of Hell will shudder from your voice. Repeat them until your demands will be heard and a spawn of Father appears in front of you. Announce your request to the Demon and pay the price.”

“Alright...” He grabbed his wrist with other hand, to slow down the blood flow and started mumbling awkwardly. “Demons of Hell hear my voice. I demand...” 

He stopped, not sure what exactly he demanded. The clock’s second hand was running quickly towards the first minute of the new hour, making Paul anxious that it won’t work. He tried again. More loudly and firmly this time. 

“Demons of Hell hear my voice! I demand one of you come in my possession!” 

The fire on the candles flickered but nothing happened. But that was enough to make Paul’s heart start to race faster. He glanced at the clock, 10 seconds left.   
“Demons of Hell hear my voice! I demand one of you come in my possession!!”   
He practically screamed the last bit when a cloud of smoke in the center of pentagram took his attention. At first he thought that one of the candles fell and the wooden floor caught on fire. But the smoke kept growing until it became a pillar higher than Paul. He stepped back, letting go of his wound, not believing his own eyes. Seconds after the clock turned to 3 hours 1 minute, the smoke settled down and Paul saw a person standing in front of him. 

A demon person. 

He was tall. Pale white skin. Handsome human face, with blue icy eyes, curly hair and a pair of twisted horns buried in them. Paul then noticed a tail swinging behind Demon’s body, accidentally tipping over both upper candles.

“I came.” Demon addressed him in a deep calm voice. This and blood loss was enough to make Paul’s world go dark and he fell unconscious onto the couch behind. 

Everything was spinning heavily even with eyes closed and Paul wasn't sure if he wanted to open them. He was laying down and trying to remember the last thing before blackout. 

Right. He was trying to summon a demon. He really needs to cut down on this cheap shit alcohol before something worse will happen. 

A sudden bang on the floor made Paul jump in surprise and finally open his eyes only to see a person on the other side of the room. The person nervously turned around, noticing Paul return to the world of living and awkwardly took a step away from the drawer, their tail hitting a vase that dropped on the floor, making it roll. 

"Oh… fuck..." Paul exhaled loudly, closing his eyes again and dropping on the back of the couch.

So it wasn't drunk hallucinations.

"No! Nonono! Don't blackout again!" Demon instantly appeared in front of the couch, grabbing Paul's face in his hands and shaking him a bit. Paul only sighed and snuggled into his palms, unnaturally warm and welcoming. But soon they left him. Paul felt like the creature dropped beside him on the couch and after another long moment he again spoke to the demon. 

"Who… why are you still here?" He opened his eyes and looked at the demon more clearly this time, taking in the unusual image of a person. 

"I don't know, really." The demon shook his horned head. "I tried to go back, since you didn't wake up." He nodded towards Paul's now bandaged wrist, making Paul follow his gaze with surprise. "But the usual method didn't work. So I'm kinda stuck here." After a moment he added. "Do you have any wishes for me? Maybe that's the thing that holds me."

"No, you can go." Paul shook his head and they both focused on the demon's body, expecting it to poof out of existence. But it didn't happen. Silence followed between them, both absorbing new information. 

Slowly Paul moved into a proper sitting position, feeling dizzy from the blood loss and now-presenting hangover. The whole situation still didn't wrap around his mind. The demon beside him looked as confused as he was with his tail nervously wiggling from side to side and him pursing lips in thin line in deep thinking. Paul instantly caught himself admiring the creature. He looked beautiful. Which was expected from demons, from what he heard. 

"Do you have a name?" Paul asked softly. 

"Christoph." Demon's vacant eyes instantly came alive after hearing Paul's voice and he gave the man a smile, baring an upper row of teeth with various fangs. 

Paul only raised a brow as an answer, as he didn't expect a name like this for a creature with horns and tail. 

"It's… a long story." He lowered his head, hiding an almost shameful expression behind curly hair. 

"Paul." 

Christoph gave him a surprised look, as he didn't expect familiarity from a human. 

"Do you have any clothes, Christoph?" Paul nodded towards the demon's naked lower half. 

"No. I always forget that humans wear those."

"Yeah, you know… it can be freezing up here." 

Christoph huffed little laugh at that, surprising Paul with his behavior this time. 

He silently got up and went to fetch spare clothing, leaving the creature on the couch. He was half expecting to find it empty coming back, but no such luck. Demon was still there, sitting unmoving in his place, looking at the window with the expression of a child who saw a roller coaster for the first time. 

"Here." Paul held out a pair of oversized pants and a shirt that he was too thin to wear. "You can crash on the couch. I'll be in the next room. Can't really think straight right now so we have to move problem solving until morning." Paul held a snicker watching the demon pulling pants on with his tail awkwardly hanging from one pant leg. "If you need anything, feel free to help yourself. Though, I don't have much."

"Thank you, Paul." Christoph gave him another bright smile, after pulling on a shirt, which was a little too big for him too, making him altogether look even more adorable. Paul only shook his head at the ridiculousness of the situation and left the room towards his bed. Now he learned that demons can be polite. What's next?


	3. Helpful is a Relative Term

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flake begins the arduous process of figuring out what's bothering Till

After the sudden appearance of Till’s unexpected savior and new house-guest, the two then spent a few hours getting to know one another. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. It had been much less of a back and forth, and more of Flake just interrogating Till. Just like their first conversation in his living room, Flake had either outright dismissed or given bored half-answers to anything Till asked about the being.

He was already tired, due to a combination of poor sleep after passing out at the bridge, as well as what little sleep he’d gotten having been had on his ragged, extremely uncomfortable couch. Though his bed was simply a mattress on the floor, it was still comfier than the couch. Flake didn’t seem to notice Till’s mental exhaustion as he continued to question him. They’d already covered Till’s dislike of his current job-- woodworking-- which Flake had simply listened to with occasional nods, his mysterious bright blue eyes staying focused on Till’s own dull green ones. Till had made a habit of not meeting the being’s gaze whenever possible. He couldn’t figure out what he saw in Flake’s eyes that made him feel so strange, but it was slightly unnerving.

They had also discussed Till's general sense of emptiness and loneliness, but Flake had seemed to focus more on the specifics of what Till had been doing the past few weeks leading up to his suicide attempt.

Till had taken a break from the questions to hunt around his bedroom for cigarettes. Flake already smoked his way through the only other pack he had. As he lit up next to his bed, Till idly wondered whether angels could get lung cancer.

A sharp rap at his open bedroom door startled him before Flake’s blonde head appeared around the corner.

“Can I come in?” he asked, glancing around at the sparse room. 

Till sighed and made a “come on” motion as he took another long drag, savouring his cigarette and avoiding meeting Flake’s curious eyes.

“Your house is rather empty,” Flake noted bluntly after his quick assessment of the room.

Till had to force himself not to roll his eyes. His shock and awe had worn off by this point, leaving him with tired resignation.  
“Yes. I don’t have much money, so I don’t have many things.”

“Right, we talked about that during the work thing.”

Till nodded, letting his eyes drift closed. Smoking always helped soothe his nerves and calm him, but also allowed his mind to perk up ever so slightly and focus on the conversation.  
“What else did you want to talk about?” he asked quietly, opening his eyes again. He meant to make the question lighter sounding, so as not to imply he was bored, but Till supposed he was more tired than he thought.

Flake eyed him, and Till immediately felt exposed under his gaze. He crouched down and stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray beside the mattress before sitting down heavily on it. Flake leaned back against the wall and raised an eyebrow at the man avoiding his look.  
“What are you feeling?”

Till wearily raised his head. “Tired,” he said truthfully.

Flake cocked his head, then nodded as he said, “Yes, I can see that. What I meant is how do you feel emotionally? I can’t see or read that myself.”

With a large inhale, Till ran a hand through his hair before answering, “I’m not really sure. I think I’m still a bit overwhelmed. It’s a lot to go from wanting to die, to being rescued, and then being informed your rescuer is an angel.”

“Not an angel,” Flake corrected, “but yes, that makes sense. Do you need a nap or something? I want to get through all this to help you, but that doesn’t do much good if you’re distressed doing it.”

“I’m not distressed,” Till said, but his protest was weak. 

“You’re exhausted.”

After a short moment, Till slowly nodded in agreement.   
“I’m not sleepy, though,” he clarified. “Just mentally tired.”

“Well, sleeping seems to do worlds of good for all kinds of tired,” said Flake, still intensely looking Till over.

“I suppose so, if I were sleepy to begin with.”

“Do you want to be sleepy? I’m serious about helping you. I don’t want any stress or exhaustion or anything else bothering you, and I’m ready to help however I can.”

Till raised his own eyebrow then, a bit worried. “Are you asking if you can knock me out?”

Flake snickered, the first outright mirth that Till had seen from him.  
“No, though I probably could. I much prefer less violent methods.”

He knew the being was baiting him, but Till was too spent to try and figure out why.  
“Then how?”

“Do you like men?”

The abrupt question made Till’s eyes widen, but he wasn’t given a chance to respond. On his part, Flake had seen the almost imperceptible reddening of Till’s already somewhat ruddy cheeks with that question, and had dived into Till’s memories, scanning for further confirmation. He found it immediately. It was so much easier to do when the person brought the memories to mind themselves rather than him having to dig.  
“I see. You’re a kinky one,” he noted, now idly flipping through Till’s memories

Till’s mouth went dry, and he felt hot shame creeping up the back of his neck.  
“I-- I don’t--”

“A *very* kinky one,” Flake mused, his eyes sparkling as his mind returned to the room from the memories. “I’m both surprised and impressed. I’d never have guessed.”

Till was wildly uncomfortable and shifted his spot on the bed.  
“I really don’t like you doing that,” he mumbled awkwardly.

“Doing what?” Flake asked, a note of sensual teasing in his voice. “Seeing your memories, or enjoying them? Or wanting to act on them? You’ll have to be specific.” 

Till tried to swallow but his throat was suddenly as dry as his mouth.

“Relax,” Flake soothed, walking over to the mattress Till was glued to. “Your memories are safe, and I promise you have nothing to be ashamed of. I’ve seen the best and worst of humanity, and you’re nowhere near the worst.”

Till glanced up at Flake, who now stood directly in front of him. The being’s eyes glinted, and Till was extremely surprised to see a very human emotion in them.

Flake knelt down to Till’s level.  
“You get sleepy from *that*, right?”

Till felt compelled to nod. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he tried to lie. He supposed that was pointless when someone could look through your brain and see plenty of contrary evidence.

“And you want to sleep, to rest your mind, right?”

Another hesitant nod.

Flake smirked, then leaned forward and kissed Till. The bigger man released a sharp breath from his nose in surprise. It only took a few moments of Flake firmly kissing and rolling his tongue along Till’s lips for Till to sense the burst of unfurling warmth in his belly. Till kissed back tentatively while his hands stayed stuck to his sides. It didn’t matter, because Flake’s hands were busy enough for two people. 

The not-angel worked quickly, running his fingers across Till’s chest and sliding his other hand under the shirt to caress skin along his belt line. The touch made Till’s hips jerk, and Flake chuckled in the middle of a kiss. He still had his magic touch, it seemed. Till’s breath quickened beneath his mouth, and Flake pulled his head back to survey his work.

Till’s eyes looked both surprised and hazy, probably a combination of shock and arousal. Flake felt pleased with himself seeing the man’s pants pulled taut over a very obvious erection. 

“What--” Till tried to ask, but Flake hushed him with a fast, dirty kiss, pushing his tongue deeply into the other man’s mouth. Till loudly groaned out his lust and shifted his seat on the mattress again, pushing his hips up to Flake’s touch. 

“I’m not going to fuck you today,” Flake informed with a whisper as he stopped kissing to unbutton Till’s pants. “I’m also not going to do any of what I saw in your memories.”

Till said nothing, just continued panting and keeping his eyes dead-set on Flake’s hands in his pants.

“But,” Flake said, pausing and meeting his gaze, “I want you to know I saw it *all.*”

The air hung heavy for a minute, with Till holding his breath in tense anticipation while Flake stared directly at him.

Flake eventually spoke again, his voice firm and desirous, “I saw it all, and I *loved* it.”

As Till released his tense breath, Flake yanked down the pants in one smooth movement to tightly grab Till’s freed dick. Till groaned, barely able to think before Flake began moving his hand, simultaneously leaning forward to breathe in Till’s ear.  
“I saw the wants, the needs, the filthy fucking thoughts and desires,” he whispered in between quick licks along Till’s earlobe. “I saw the women *and* the men; what you did and what you *wanted* to do. Everything.”

Till’s back stiffened and his hands balled into fists as Flake jerked him off, never stopping his fast movements. His words morphed into sharp bites at Till’s ear, which then moved to his cheek and throat. Till only had the briefest flicker of concern about finishing too quickly before Flake bit his neck, hard.

All his thoughts vanished, and Till gasped as his orgasm hit him full force. He couldn’t tell if he’d closed his eyes or lost vision entirely as he spasmed under Flake’s ceaseless touch. Flake didn’t allow his hand to slow until Till was jerking away with pitiful whimpers and whines. Flake’s hand then moved to the base to grip even more tightly, and he turned to look at Till’s face again. The man’s breath came in ragged hitches, and only after Flake slid his wet fist up Till’s still hardened cock to the overly-sensitive head did Till blearily open his eyes. He hissed as Flake teasingly stroked him a few more times, his body flinching at the touch.

Flake finally released him, wiping his hand across the bare mattress to clean himself of Till’s sudden finish.

“Sorry,” Till hoarsely whispered, the shame overly apparent in his voice as he scooted away.

Flake snorted. “Whatever for? Is an orgasm not the desired result of sexual activity here? That was rhetorical,” he clarified as Till valiantly tried to open his mouth to answer. “Take a nap, then we’ll get back to work helping you, all right?”

Even if he’d wanted to argue, Till’s mind was quickly shutting down. It was an embarrassing bodily flaw in his opinion, both how quickly he finished and how incredibly spent he became after his orgasms. As he was sure the angel had seen, it had been the death blow to several of his relationships, and he was horrifically ashamed of it still.

Despite the painful memories and current embarrassment, he felt his eyes drooping as he slumped back onto the mattress.   
“Stay?” he struggled to speak as Flake stood up.

Flake gave him a quizzical look. “Why? Aren’t you just going to sleep?”

Till was seriously having to fight to keep from passing out before finishing his thought, and he couldn’t seem to find an appropriate way to phrase what he wanted without sounding pathetic or desperate.

Fuck it; he was too tired to try any more.

“Lonely,” was all he managed to say.

Flake’s brow knit together as he studied the man’s still heaving body on the bed, his tired eyes silently pleading.  
“All right,” he agreed, shedding his jacket and flopping down onto his back beside Till. The big man grunted his thanks as he closed his eyes, then curled his body into a tight ball on his side. Flake watched in fascination as Till moved his head until it just barely touched Flake’s arm, then settled. After just a minute, Till was fast asleep, his chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm.

Once he was sure Till wouldn’t wake up, Flake reached over to the floor and grabbed Till’s pack of cigarettes, lighting one and smoking as he stared up at the dull gray ceiling. Once the cigarette was nothing but ash, Flake got up smoothly and left Till to his sleep, taking the pack of cigarettes with him.

\-------

A chill woke Till, rousing him from his short nap. He rubbed at his eyes and glanced around the room, a slight pang of disappointment pricking his consciousness when he saw that Flake was gone. He knew it hadn’t just been a prolonged dream because his pants were still unbuttoned and halfway down his legs. He sat up and pulled up his pants, the earlier shame returning even worse now that he was alone. What kind of spineless slut was he, letting the first person who crossed his doorway jerk him off within an hour or two of getting to know him?

He did his best to shelve those thoughts for now as he left his bedroom to find the not-angel. After a quick look around, he became somewhat surprised that Flake was no longer in his house. The surprise turned to worry-- a worry that puzzled him. Flake had given no indication he was incapable of being on his own, and Till had only spoken with him for a few hours. Why did he feel so much concern now that he was gone?

Till’s nagging inner voice reared its head and laughed at him.   
“You’re a lonely fuck,” it chided. “A pathetic nobody that gets attached to someone just because they got him off.”

It wasn’t the first time Till wished he could plug his metaphorical ears against the mocking voice. This had been the same voice taunting him when his partners left, crowing when he made a mistake at work, and outright cheering him on when he’d climbed up the bridge last night. Till had no idea how to make it stop, short of drinking himself unconscious or killing himself. 

Drinking was a good idea, he decided suddenly, crossing over to his mostly-bare kitchen. After pulling out a small drawer, he was pleased to see the not-angel hadn’t stolen his whiskey, though as he’d stated earlier that morning, the beer was indeed all gone. Fuck, so were the last of his cigarettes.

Ah well. Whiskey could be a fine companion on its own. It was later afternoon, very nearly evening anyhow, he reasoned, pouring an oversized glass. After a moment’s thought, staring at the dingy brown bottle in his hand, he sighed and tilted it right to his lips and bypassing the glass entirely.

Several hours later found him very comfortably drunk, flopped back on his horribly uncomfortable couch with his legs kicked up over the arm on one side. The shitty TV in the corner was on, but he wasn’t paying any attention. It would probably have irked him anyhow.

The door suddenly slammed open, and Till lolled his head to look. He was drunk beyond the point of being surprised or worried.

Flake appeared, courteously closing the door behind him as he walked in.  
“Brought you some more cigarettes,” he said offhandedly, kicking his shoes off. He didn’t need to, really. The apartment was dusty enough that any dirt tracked in would be invisible.He probably should poke Till to tidy up.

One glance over at the couch made Flake sigh in irritation.  
“You’re drunk,” he stated sourly. “I thought I drank all your beer.”

“You did,” Till slurred, lacing his hands behind his head and staring at the ceiling. “I had a private reserve.”

Flake grumbled as he tossed the cigarettes onto the kitchen counter. This was going to make things way harder than they needed to be. He eyed Till, trying to gauge just *how* drunk he was. If he were just tipsy, maybe mildly drunk, this could be an incredibly productive session. Loose lips often followed a few swallows of alcohol, and it made going through past memories a breeze. But, if he were *too* drunk…

Till cleared his throat, then coughed roughly as he shifted his position on the couch to face Flake. The tall man knelt down to look directly into Till’s face.

“Follow with just your eyes,” he instructed, holding his index finger in front of Till’s face. To his credit, Till looked like he took the command very seriously, scrunching his eyebrows together and making a determined face as he attempted to. But his whole head followed the movement of his eyes, and Flake sighed again irritably.

“You’re too drunk,” he asserted with a scowl. “Great.”  
Flake stalked over to the other chair and flopped down into it, turning his attention to the television instead.

“What did you want? Are you ok?” Till asked, rolling himself over further and getting into a seated position. He was a bit wobbly, but managed to stay on the couch. His concern was touching, if such things could be touching to Flake. It didn’t seem like it.

“Like we said earlier,” he said, his tone biting, “I was going to help go through your memories to figure out what about your life is so dismal you want kill yourself. It’s extremely hard to do that when you’re drunk; your brain goes all over the place and doesn’t sit still. So, good work. Can’t do it tonight anymore.”

Till looked positively wounded at his sharp accusation.The man looked like a puppy that had been kicked, with huge sad eyes and even a slightly trembling chin. 

Flake hated it.

“Can we try?” Till offered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I’ll focus, I swear. I’m not that drunk.”

Flake raised his eyebrow in very strong disbelief at that assertion, but figured there was nothing wrong with a quick glance to see just how chaotic it would be.  
With yet another sigh, Flake waved a hand. “Fine. Let’s get it over with, then. This won’t take long, I’m sure.”

“What do I have to do?” Till asked, and his willingness was a bit surprising to Flake. Perhaps this could work after all. Resistance was one of the top things that hindered him from clearly viewing memories, so if Till were this giving while drunk, maybe it would be even easier. Only one way to find out.

“Think about your daily routine,” Flake directed. “Think about how your days have gone these last few weeks. How you woke up, how your job went, what you ate for meals, everything. Routines are easy to help show what parts you disliked or that were too much for you to handle. Plus, the memories of that will be clearer since you do the same things. Got it?”

Till nodded sloppily, but his face looked set and as focused as it could be.

“Good. So take me back a few days, a week maybe. Think about your day and pretend like you’re reliving it, and just relax.”

The drunk man scrunched his face in concentration, and Flake leisurely made his way into the man’s consciousness. 

He immediately regretted it, as the memories rolled and tumbled like the waves of an ocean in a storm. The memories were less like a movie that Flake was used to, and more of a swirling mess of quick scenes. Flake saw a blurry image of the clock beside Till’s mattress early in the morning, saw a wavy walk to a factory where there were intermittent flashes of Till’s hands working with various wooden pieces, one of which looked like a boat. Then, the memory jumped to him trudging away from the factory and toward a small building filled with young, happy people. Flake felt his stomach turn in protest as the memory sloshed around and refused to stay steady, but he decided to wait just a bit longer to see if anything stuck out. Till wandered the room, not really talking to anyone it seemed, though he couldn’t be sure with how unsteady the entire scene was. 

A sudden flash of a very clear image stuck in Till’s mind for several seconds, which seemed like an eternity when the scenes had been lasting not more than a blink. A man shorter than Till with stark blonde dyed hair and a guitar slung over his shoulder approached him with a huge smile, beer in his free hand. Flake watched with interest as Till handed the man a paper with what looked like a song or poem scribbled onto it. The scene ended abruptly there, and moved to Till staggering back home and falling onto the couch, drunk. Flake could tell he was drunk in the memory as well as in real life, because the memory played upside down and backward-- and that was the last straw for his stomach.

Flake tore himself out of the memory and staggered over to the kitchen sink before retching into it. God, he hated feeling secondhand drunk, he thought miserably as he emptied his stomach of the formerly-tasty food he’d managed to swipe earlier. A glance over at Till told him the other man was in a similar state, having barely made it to a trash can. He was now also sobbing uncontrollably, it looked like, struggling to switch between vomiting into the garbage can and crying so hard he couldn’t hold himself upright. He eventually lay in a miserable heap on the floor, his body still wracked with sobs once his stomach was empty. Flake wiped his mouth and groaned.

Damn it.

This might end up being a bit harder than he thought.


	4. Open as a Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dust is settled down after night's events. Paul is now left alone with his demons, an actual demon and demon's demons. It's already hard to keep an open mind towards people you beraly know and it's twice as hard to see something in a creature you only knew existed in a fairy tales.

Book would say that the weather was sunny and the hero was woken up by a ray of sun tickling their nose. But it wasn't a book. Besides, is it even ever being sunny in Berlin. 

Paul had his doubts as he finally opened his eyes, looking around the room consumed by the darkness of a cloudy day. His head hungover hurt, stomach rumbled, instantly reminding that he's still hungry and, in addition to those two usual symptoms, his wrist was feeling unusually sore. He gave it a quick glance and horror creeped on his sleepy face. A blood soaked piece of cloth was hugging his wrist, memories of night events started overflowing Paul's head and he moaned in distress. "Fu-uck.."

Weird books, blood, summoning, demons. Wait. 

"Is there an actual demon in my apartment??" A single thought screamed inside his mind. Paul pressed himself against a wall behind his bed, drilling one that separates him from the demon with an intense stare filled with fear. 

No, that can't be. Demons don't exist. Maybe he just started to have hallucinations. Do starving people see hallucinations? And with all the blood loss. He must be just exhausted. 

A shaky sigh left Paul's chest as he gathered himself, finally getting up from the bed and moved towards the bathroom. He held his head with a hand, too heavy with pain and thoughts to hold it on its own, when he walked past the living room, giving the opening a quick glance. He instantly stopped. Chills ran along his spine and he swallowed. Slowly he retraced his steps and peeked inside the room. Everything was like he left it in the middle of the night. Black mess of soot in form of a pentagram on the floor, 5 spots of wax from burned out candles. And a demon. Real life demon. 

He was sitting with his back to Paul, half lying on the windowsill and looking outside of the window. His tail was now hanging on top of the pants, slowly swaying from side to side, sometimes freezing when the demon would see something particularly interesting happening on the street and renew the motion when it would pass. 

"Fu-u-uck." Paul whined again, a little bit louder than he hoped for. Demon turned around on the sound and gave Paul a small smile, his tail made an enthusiastic sway.  
"Here you are! I already started thinking that you might have passed away." He caught his tail with his hands, placing it on his laps and looked at Paul, expecting something. 

"I'LL BE RIGHT BACK!" Paul practically jumped away from the door frame and darted into the bathroom, locking himself inside. 

Can demons break through doors? They sure can! 

Paul counted seconds, looking at the door, but no intrusion followed. Calming himself a bit, he leaned on the sink, looking himself in the eyes in the mirror. He looked awful, pale as snow with big blue eye bags underneath his faded eyes, cheekbones poking to the sides more than ever before. He stroked his chin with the fluff of a growing beard and awkward mustache under his nose. Not the most appealing diplomatic look for interaction between two worlds. And sure as hell not threatening enough. 

Splashing his face with cold water calmed him a bit more, helping with making up his mind. 

He just needs to go in, ask what the demon wants and be done with this. Simple as this. Really simple.

Paul quietly unlocked the bathroom door and stepped out. The demon was still sitting next to the window but now yesterday's book was resting on his lap. 

"What do you want." Paul's voice was as harsh and steady as he could manage, only a slight tremble of the hands was giving away his fear. 

Demon looked away from the book and faced Paul once more. This time his face was more calm, even upset in a way. Making Paul swallow, feeling that he was doing something wrong. The creature stared at him for a long minute, almost looking through him, with his eyes completely blank. After another moment of pressing silence he finally answered in a calm low voice, "I want nothing." 

Paul blinked and awkwardly shifted, expecting something else to follow, but nothing did as the demon returned his attention back to the book. Shyly Paul stepped inside the room, approaching the sofa near the demon's seat. He dropped on it, slightly further from the creature but not completely on the other side of it, and started carefully studying it, making sure that the demon wouldn't catch him staring. "Well..have you..figured out why you can't go back?"

Christoph only shook his head, silently going through pages. Stopping sometimes to trace words with his fingers, finch at them and move forward. 

They sat in silence for some time, Paul couldn't find any more pressing questions to ask and was waiting for something else to happen. That's when Christoph finally closed the book and looked at Paul, returning a curious look that traveled along his thin body until it stopped on his bandage. "Shouldn't you do something about it?" He nodded his decorated with horns head towards the covered wound. 

Paul followed his gaze to the damaged wrist and brought to his lap. Without a second thought he slowly peeled, stiffened with dried blood, cloth and hissed in pain. Material stuck to his wounds, and now being removed, the bleeding started again. With a quiet curse, Paul put pressure on the spot with his other hand and hastily looked around, searching for something to help him. 

"Can I help? I can help!!" The book was thrown on the windowsill and the demon jumped up from his seat, causing Paul to stare at him in confusion. He crooked his brows in surprise but nodded somewhere towards outside the room. "There's a box with bandages in the kitchen. In the upper left cupboard." Without waiting, Christoph darted towards the direction Paul pointed to and quickly fetched the asked box for him, fortunately empty shelves helped with the search. He carefully lowered himself near Paul on the sofa and waited for further instructions. 

Paul quietly thanked him and reached inside the box, pulling antiseptic and trying to open it with his teeth. Him having problems with even such a small task was just pathetic. he demon instantly reached to help again, gently removing a small vial from Paul's hand and opening it. He held it near Paul's wound and glanced at the man. Paul nodded and Christoph poured liquid onto the wound. 

Paul instantly jerked away, hissing and squinting his eyes in pain. "Oh fuck! It hurts!" Christoph didn’t move away, only stroked his skin with his fingers, soothing pulsing nerves with his unusual warmth, then reached inside the box, fetching bandages. His face all the sudden changed its expression, again going calm and focused, almost as his mind went somewhere else. His fingers efficiently moved around Paul's wrist, making a tight bandage and stopping the bleeding. 

Paul fell silent, absorbing the sharp contrasts he just witnessed. He was absolutely lost and confused in what was going now and who he's dealing with. If that was an actual demon from actual hell, he was nothing like everything Paul knew about demons. But it's not like he had lots of experience before yesterday night. 

"How are.."  
"You are.." 

They started talking simultaneously, both looking at each other with a newborn interest. It made Paul lift the corners of his lips in a weak smile for the first time since everything happened. He nodded for the demon to continue. 

"You are cold," Christoph said, his fingers again reaching for Paul's arm, healthy one this time, stroking it with his fingers, tickling the skin with the comfort. 

"Am I?" Paul touched himself underneath the jaw but didn't feel any temperature changes. Instead, abnormal warmth from the demon's fingers still was present on his forearm. "Maybe it's you who's too warm."

Christoph repeated Paul's move, checking his own temperature and shrugged as well, as he didn't find anything unusual about it. Paul only huffed a laugh and moved his attention to other demonic features. "Can I touch you..your horns?" He asked awkwardly, quickly trying to justify such a bold request. "I never met..anyone like you. And.."

Christoph answered nothing, only lowered his head, moving it closer. Paul's fingers gently touched firm horns, tracing the rough surface of them with his finger pads. "I still can't believe that you're real," he mumbled. His voice became softer, still a bit stiffened as fear was remaining present in it, slowly changing towards caution mixed with curiosity. 

The demon's tail twitched at his words, starting nervously swaying at its tip. He moved away from the exploring hands and lowered his head, hiding the expression. "This everything is something new to me," he started unsure, "I know that I existed before you summoned me. But I don't really remember anything. It's like I woke when you summoned me here. I can think and I can feel and I feel that there was more before this moment but I just can't figure out what or when or even where." 

"So nothing that book says? Bounding and wishes and bloody payment?" Paul asked, absorbing new information, trying to catch any slyness in the demon's words.  
Christoph shook his head. "I feel like..I'm free." He swiftly raised his head back and looked at Paul, his eyes were shining with something Paul definitely couldn't call a lie.  
"Will you go away now? From me, I mean. My place." Half an hour ago he wished that this nightmare creature would just vanish from his life. But right now curiosity and newly born sympathy took the lead. He wanted him to stay. 

The thought made him press his lips in a thin line, awaiting the answer. A small pang of fear that he's being tricked or charmed into those feelings spread in Paul's chest, slowly bringing the panic back.  
Christoph caught his tail in his hands again, awkwardly fiddling with its pointy tip. Paul noticed how blue eyes suddenly looked to the side shyly. "I don't have anywhere to go. Or anyone I would know. I would like to stay with you. For now."

As fast as the storm inside Paul started rising, it died out with help from the demon’s honesty. It almost felt as, creature in front of him, Christoph, was as afraid as Paul himself. The obscure thought made Paul rethink everything he built inside his mind at this point. But this time reevaluation was cut short. Adrenaline built from a stressful morning started to fade away as he didn't need it anymore with newly founded comfort, instead the previous dilemma reminded of its existence. Paul still was hungry and now with one more mouth to feed. He felt how the world spun in front of his eyes and his stomach dropped almost painfully.

Paul slowly got up from the couch, holding onto its handle as he was afraid to blackout once more, and moved towards the door. Halfway realization hit him and he started mumbling, “I..ah..I’m gonna go try to find food for us.” He turned towards Christoph and was surprised to find the demon was already on his legs, closely following behind Paul. “You coming with me?” Paul’s question was more of a confusion than invitation but Christoph nodded without giving the idea much of a thought. 

“I don’t want to be alone,” he said with a serious expression, frowning a bit as he fought some clearly unpleasant ideas away.  
“Aren’t we all.” Paul nodded to his own thoughts and looked Christoph over. After noticing obvious problems he hummed in deep thinking and pointed at the demon's idly swinging tail, “Put it away.” Meanwhile he dug inside the drawer and pulled an old stretched knitted hat, handing it over to Christoph. He took it and looked it over, confusion on his face.  
“Your horns,” Paul pointed with his finger at the demon’s head. “You don’t see many horned people walking around. You’ll get lots of unwanted attention.” 

Christoph awkwardly pulled the knitted piece of clothing on top of his head and looked at Paul awaiting approval. Paul held a chuckle, and lowered his gaze. He looked ridiculous in a vibrant blue knitted hat decorated with silly ear flaps and a little tail on top, his curls peeking underneath it, framing the face. Not the most fitting accessory for the warm spring weather. But Paul said nothing, to not confuse him even more and moved towards the exit. 

Outside greeted them with a warm May’s wind, despite all the clouds and darkness that still were consuming the streets. Paul stretched, feeling a bit refreshed being out, and glanced behind his shoulder at his companion. Christoph only managed to make no more than a couple of steps outside the building and froze in one place, gaping around and twitching at every loud noise of passing cars and trams. 

“Christoph?” Paul approached him and tried to catch the demon's running look. Anxiety of an otherworldly creature having a panic attack in the middle of a street crossed his mind. “You can go back inside if this all is too much.”  
“No, I’m fine. It’s just everything is more..” His thoughts trailed away as soon as a serious looking black and white cat stepped from the bushes towards the building's entrance. Forgetting about everything, Christoph jerked towards its direction, scaring the animal into running away towards the yard. Paul’s eyes widened at such a sudden change of pace and he joined the chase, trying to stop the overly excited demon. “Christoph! Don’t run! You’re scaring it!”

Thankfully, everything came to a halt soon enough, when the cat suddenly stopped in the middle of a small well-like yard and started aggressively hissing in their direction, arching its back and tail, feeling trapped. Paul was about to suggest to leave the small feline alone and continue on their way but Christoph moved slowly closer getting on his knees. The cat attempted a defensive attack towards the demon with angry hissing, making Paul jump away, even though he wasn't its prime target. Christoph, on the other hand, didn’t react at all, only reaching for the animal with his hand. Cat sniffed offered fingers and instantly dropped an angry stance in favor of a gag reflex. Paul chuckled and crossed his arms, being amused by the whole situation. The demon indeed had a smell to him unlike any other human, almost as if he rolled around in a mix of ash from a burned down house and benzin. Carefully he continued to watch the interaction in case he would need to prevent one certain demon from losing his eyes. 

But it seems that no saving operation was needed. Cat gave his hand another chance and pushed its head into the warm palm. It took only a couple of seconds more for it to end up on Christoph’s lap as he was now happily sitting on the ground, petting the purring animal. Paul only hummed in surprise. “Well, look at that.”  
“I wish I could understand what she's saying.”  
“Cats don’t talk, Christoph.” Paul squatted down near them and reached to give their new pal a scratch but received a disapproving glare of two emerald eyes and backed away. Instead he noticed a slight twitching of the demon’s tail underneath its pants. He lowered his head, hiding creeping smile and whispered, “That’s ridiculous,” then more loudly, “If you want to go around with me, you need to start controlling your..emotions. No tail movements, alright? A man walking around with something moving in his pants will get us jailed.”  
“Right, sorry.” Christoph got up, still holding the cat in his arms. He concentrated for a couple of moments and suddenly all the twitching had stopped. Paul joined him, making a mental note on this inhuman behavior.  
“Should we get going?” He nodded towards main street. Christoph held the cat to his face, whispering something to it. It responded with a flat meow and jumped from the demon's arms, gracefully disappearing in nearby bushes. 

Finally they were on their way to the band's apartment. Everything was making the demon excited. He constantly looked around, would stop near absolutely mundane objects until noticing that Paul was already far ahead and quickly caught up with him. It was like walking around with your little cousin if your little cousin were an otherworldly creature you should tremble in fear in front of. Or should you really? 

Paul stopped near the entrance of a building where their vocalist was camping in an abandoned apartment. Christoph yet again was trailing far behind, taking special interest in flowery bushes growing along the road. People must’ve thought that he’s just high, especially looking like this, in his ridiculous hippie hat and oversized clothing. The look and acting you wouldn't normally be afraid of. Questions started popping up in Paul’s mind. Who really was he? Are all demons like this? Maybe hell is a big misconception and he should join that church of satan he heard about. “Christoph!” he called the preoccupied demon and nodded towards the door, entering the building.

The door was opened by a tall blond guy holding a bass guitar. He instantly smiled seeing Paul and stepped away to let them in. "Landers."  
"Zimmermann." Paul nodded and stepped inside, Christoph followed, still looking up at the fretwork decorating an old building's ceiling and paying no attention to another human. The bassist crooked a brow at the new guest's behavior and addressed Paul instead. "Is he playing?"  
"No. Christoph, this is Christoph."  
"Ha! I hope he's better than this one!" a loud comment was heard from the room on the left from the entrance.  
"Shut your mouth, Kriening!" the blond guy laughed in answer. Demon looked confused by this interaction but said nothing, only gave Paul a confused glance. Paul shook his head and changed the topic.  
"Did Aljoscha manage to finally get money from the last gig?  
Christoph - the bassist - shrugged and closed the door, going towards the room where the second voice came from. “Ask Aljosha.”  
“Is he here?” The little hope in Paul’s voice was instantly crushed as Zimmermann shook his blond head.  
“Look, I’m starving! I really need this money!”  
The tall guy only shrugged again and answered with a little bit more sympathy in his voice, “I think there was something in that broken fridge, if you’re really desperate.” 

He was and the fridge indeed contained *something* in it. Something looked completely inedible, and it probably caused the fall of roman empire, judging by the age of this *something*. And now it is most likely going to cause the fall of Paul Landers but he didn’t care. Paul unwrapped the tinfoil and took a big bite from the chicken sandwich, swallowing it almost unchewing, also helping with the bland as dust taste. He felt food falling into his stomach, causing it to wake up in the most unpleasant way and took another bite. Suddenly realization hit him and he peeked with his eyes to the side, noticing his new shadow awkwardly looking around the empty kitchen, still finding cracks and wallpaper patterns to stop at and study. With great force Paul stopped devouring the food and handed it to the demon. “You’re probably also hungry.” Christoph accepted the offering and, after inspecting an unappealing looking food, took a small bite from the wrapping. His face was completely calm, chewing through borderline spoiled, badly cooked chicken and after thickly swallowing it he announced,“That’s disgusting.”  
Paul instantly burst into laughter, making the demon even more confused. Even hell’s creatures found Aljosha Rompe’s cooking unbearable. 

Speaking of the devil himself, a balding head peeked inside the kitchen, calling for the almost sobbing Paul’s attention. “Paul, you were looking for me?” While Paul was calming himself and wiping tears, Aljoscha looked over to Christoph and asked, “Is he playing?”  
“No, no, he’s not. About money..” Paul took the smaller man by his forearm and pushed towards a different room, away from people’s ears, leaving the confused hell creature alone with his breakfast.

Surprisingly enough, when Paul returned back he found the food untouched lying on the table and Christoph again stuck at the window, looking outside with fascination. He picked up the sandwich and took another bite. “So, you didn’t like it *that* much?" An instant realization hit him after he asked the question. “Do you even need food?”  
Christoph shrugged, turning his attention to Paul.  
“Sleep?”  
“What’s sleep?”  
Paul hummed thoughtfully, finishing his breakfast. “When you’re tired you lay down and turn yourself off. But not completely. You’re still conscious and can see dreams. Not like me yesterday..” He lowered his head, being a bit ashamed of losing consciousness during the whole summoning affair.  
“What's a dream?”  
“It’s when your mind makes a story from something you saw before.”  
Christoph, pursed his lips, frowning a bit at the idea. “Can I see dreams? About..things that I don’t remember?”  
Paul looked behind his back, checking if any of his bandmates were eavesdropping and approached Christoph closer, asking in a careful voice, “You don’t remember anything at all?”  
Christoph was silent for a minute, focusing on his mind. Despite a promise, his tail twitched nervously but Paul didn’t say anything giving him time to gather his thoughts. He was really curious about discovering at least something about the person he was now stuck with. 

“I remember yesterday. As you summoned me. A lot of smoke and you falling back as soon as you saw me," Christoph finally spoke. Paul felt shame creeping back and was about to defend his honor but the demon continued. 

“I remember mom.” 

These words made Paul freeze, and shivers rolled down his skin as he wasn’t expecting to hear something like this from a demon. Christoph was looking somewhere beyond this place, delving into the little memory he had.  
“She had white long hair. Big white wings with large feathers. They would drop from her sometimes and fly up burning in the air until only bare bones left and she couldn't fly anymore. She was fading away every time I would blink until one time I did and she was gone. And then there was darkness.”

Paul felt tightness around his throat. He almost expected to see a twitch of trickery and victorious “Aha! I found your weakness, human!” but nothing of the sort was present in the person in front of him. Christoph was emitting grief, staying completely unmoving, silent and buried under heavy memories. Only memories. Unable to help it, Paul reached for him, timidly placing a hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing it in sympathy. The simple gesture broke the ice as Christoph instantly threw himself in Paul’s arms, grabbing him in a tight hug. Paul didn’t hear crying or feel trembling, only unfittingly comforting warmth of another body and silent hurt. 

They stayed like this for a while, holding each other in sudden sympathy and closeness until Paul broke the silence, making an awkward suggestion, “Let’s go home? I got the money, I can buy us something better to eat.”  
Christoph finally pushed himself away and flinched at the thought, still feeling a nasty taste in his mouth. “I’m not sure I’m into your human food.”  
Paul huffed a laugh, feeling relieved that everything seemed normal - as normal as it can be - despite unexpected revelations. “THAT wasn’t human food. More like hell food.”  
Christoph crooked a brow, looking almost offended by such statement. Paul disregarded him and offered instead, “I’ll cook you something better to try.”  
“I’m not helping.” He frowned at forgotten tinfoil on the table and crossed his arms.  
Paul only smiled, mumbling to himself, “So we *do* have a temper. Interesting.”

\--------------

“You and this cat, I swear to god.” Paul huffed stepping outside in hot may’s sun. Spring was going to be over in a couple of days and lately they were surprising grey berliners with hot weather. Christoph was squatting in his usual place near the cat murmuring something private to her when he heard this and involuntarily twitched his tail. Paul covered his mouth in an apologetic gesture and fixed himself. “I’m sorry, I meant “Hail satan!”  
Christoph huffed and went back to his cat friend, stroking her glossy fur. “She has a name. Toma.”  
“How would you know?” Paul approached them and was about to try to pet the cat but received another glare of green eyes. 

“She told me.” Christoph gave Toma one last ear scratch and got up, ready to go to the library.  
“Cats don’t talk, Christoph.” He completely disregarded the last statement as it was their usual topic of bickering at this point. He tried to explain to Paul that he felt something special about cats, or THIS cat specifically, as other felines mostly ran away in horror from him, but the man wasn’t buying it at all.  
“Any new dreams?” Paul brought him back from the cloud of thought about the cat as they started walking towards their usual destination. 

“Yes, actually. Well, not completely new. It was the usual. We walked along this street, as we always do, and there were cars passing, as always. But then I stopped and saw a carriage coming down the street.”  
“A carriage?” Paul looked with a surprise at Christoph.  
“Yes. Black carriage with golden patterns and two black horses in front of it. They had long white feathers in their harness. It stopped in front of me. The horses were tired from going a long way, foam was gathering around their mouths. And then a voice called me by the name from the inside.” Christoph stopped and looked over the road he just described, almost expecting said carriage to pull over.  
“I don’t think we ever saw a horse together, let alone a whole carriage.” Paul mumbled, trying to figure out if he might have shown Christoph a picture of one or he talked about something like this but nothing would come to his mind.  
“Yeah..me neither.” Christoph only shuddered as a weird feeling of something painfully familiar yet so distant ran down his spine. 

Soon they reached the local library and entered the building, greeting a librarian behind a counter with a smile on their faces.  
“Good morning, Frau Schuler.”  
“Good *day*, young men.” An old lady with wild grey curly hair and glasses hanging on the tip of her nose gave them a disapproving look, but instantly softened into an almost motherly expression and bent down to fetch a prepared stack of books. Paul held his hands forward to receive them but was instantly cut out by her. “Not for you, Herr Landers. Sadly there is nothing else in our disposal that can help you in your research. I made a request to other local libraries but the answer is the same. You read every available demonology script, encyclopedia and children’s books. I’m sorry, dear. Whatever you’re looking for is sadly not here.” The last words were for consoling as Paul’s face fell in sadness. He felt the warm hand gently patting his back but it quickly stopped as Christoph almost jumped away hearing Frau’s next words.  
“Now. Herr Schneider.” Paul widened his eyes at the man near him. Christoph stepped forward awkwardly receiving the stack of books. Frau cheerfully continued, “Everything you requested. Encyclopaedia Botanica in two thomes. Brandenburg metropolitan region flora, one book.” She made marks in her checklist and smiled.  
“Brandenburg flora..?” Paul repeated staring at Christoph in disbelief.  
“Yes! It was such a pleasure to find all these books for Herr Schneider. I haven’t seen such passion for plants in a long time!” She clapped.  
“Aha.” Paul squinted at the silent demon that was turning almost devilishly red in shame, pressing books to his chest.  
“Well, we better be on our way then. Yes, *Herr Schneider*?” Paul tugged Christoph’s sleeve towards the exit.  
“Bye, Frau Schuler!” She only managed to wave goodbye at them and went back to work.

“So. You’re Christoph Schneider now, huh?” Paul tried to keep his face serious, holding a threatening to escape laugh.  
“She asked for the full name and there was that book about tailoring behind her and..” Christoph was mumbling, unable to hide the shyness anymore. His curiosity won long ago as he drifted from their research towards different topics more and more.  
“No no! I like it. Christoph Schneider-r-r-r.” Paul rolled his new surname on his tongue and finally burst into laughter. Demon only glared at him and increased his speed, moving away from the silly mocking human.  
“Hey! Schneider, slow down!” 

They were going in silence for some time, both preoccupied with thoughts of their own. Gears were turning in Paul’s head when he realized. “So while I was trying to find a way to help you go back, you were reading about plants?”  
Christoph looked away, hugging his books harder. He was scared of this topic yet he knew that one day it’ll be time to face the truth, which was that he didn’t want to go back. He didn’t try to find a way. And luckily for him it seemed that his situation was unique enough so there wasn't an immediate answer on how to do it. But that wasn’t his main fear. He was afraid that Paul wouldn't want him to stay and all this time all his willingness to help was motivated by a pure wish to make him go away.  
“I see..” Paul said quietly, picking on Christoph’s discomfort. He lowered his head, taking in his companion’s reaction. Small smile slowly formed on his lips and he laughed again, realizing his own blindness.


End file.
